


Golden-Red

by Branches_Cut_The_Sky_Open



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Other, Trypophobia, Trypophobia Warning, idk if you can get trypo from a description but, its not exactly a character study but it could be if you squint, takes place in MAG 162: a cosy cabin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28190394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Branches_Cut_The_Sky_Open/pseuds/Branches_Cut_The_Sky_Open
Summary: The eyes open.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Golden-Red

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about all those extra eyes we keep drawing on Jon and I wondered if it hurt the first time they opened. I decided that it did. Enjoy.

Jon wishes he could scream. He would be, if it weren’t for the statement still pressing out of him, unwilling or unable to release him. His skin is on fire. His arms, his face, his neck, he feels as though he’s being peppered with little hot coals. Horribly, he is reminded of the chewing assault of the Corruption, the worms burrowing into his skin. He can feel tears streaming down his face, but his voice doesn’t waver, Beholding refusing to relinquish his body to his own control. He can feel liquid trickling from every little searing hurt. Blood? He holds out his arms before him, trying to see a cause.

His worm scars blink back at him, horribly. Unnaturally green irises, pupils blown wide as a dark room, tears and blood mingling as they roll to gaze at him. The lashes of each tiny eye are scummed with blood from their becoming. Where the scars cluster, his skin is simply a shifting lattice of eyelids and seeing. His hands are shaking, and the scarred one is rippling with eyes. His wrists are fettered with them, the healed-over rope burn from his month enduring Nikola’s _hospitality_ splitting open again just to stare.

He slaps a hand to his throat, and it _shuts_ at the pressure of his hand, lids closing over a massive eye right in the mark Daisy left on him the day she killed Michael Crew. He can feel his whole face blinking, his shoulder, the stab wounds from Melanie and Michael, every fucking mark that Elias had organized for him. They ache, they hurt like a slice, and more than ever before Jon just wants out of his body, out of his _life_.

But he can’t die now, can he.


End file.
